


One Final Detail

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Aunt Marge is frantic when Vernon and his family disappear.





	One Final Detail

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

            Marge Dursley hung up as soon as the answering machine came on.  She had already left several messages, but no one returned her calls.  Where could Vernon and his family be?  Marge had tried for days to reach them.  She even telephoned Grunnings, but a syrupy automated voice told her to listen carefully because their menu had changed.  Marge had no time for that nonsense.             

 

            Colonel Fubster tried to reassure her.

 

            “They’re probably on vacation,” he said. 

 

            “But they wouldn’t go away without telling me,” Marge insisted.  “Besides, I always pay them a visit about this time.”  

            

            It occurred to her that Vernon and Petunia’s neighbors might know something.  The only one Marge could recall was that batty old woman who lived a couple of blocks over.  Marge had seen her walk past the house wearing bedroom slippers, but she didn’t know her name.  Nor could she recall the surname of Petunia’s friend Yvonne.  

 

            The late July evening was stifling.  Marge fed and watered the dogs, then poured herself a glass of chilled wine.  She stared at the telephone, willing it to ring.

  

            Later, despite the wine, she was unable to fall asleep. 

 

            _Something’s happened to them.  I can feel it in my bones.  It’s that boy.  He’s finally turned on them, just as I predicted.  Why didn’t they take my advice all those years ago and put him in an orphanage?  He’s probably murdered them in cold blood._

            The next morning, Marge placed a call to the police station in Little Whinging.  She immediately discovered that real-life police officers were not like their television counterparts.    They switched her from one person to another and each time she had to repeat her story. 

 

            “It isn’t against the law for people to leave town without telling anyone, Madam.  I’m sure they’ll be in touch very soon.” 

 

            “No, they won’t!” Marge shouted.  “My sister-in-law’s nephew, Harry Potter, lives with them when he’s not in school at St. Brutus’s.  He’s criminally insane.  They’re probably lying dead in their beds this very minute!”

 

            That got their attention, and they switched her to a detective.  By this time, Marge was so agitated that she couldn’t tell her story properly.  She launched into a rambling account of the orphan boy left on her brother’s doorstep; how they had raised him as a son and given him every care, all for nothing.  The boy had bad blood.    

 

            The detective was in a foul mood because he was trying to quit smoking.  Miss Dursley’s story made no sense.  With difficulty, he managed to terminate the conversation by promising to check things out and get back to her.  

 

            “Just another nutter,” he said to his colleagues.

 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.  

 

            Arthur Weasley would ordinarily have been excited about using the public fellytone in Ottery St. Catchpole.  Now, however, he was just plain annoyed that this important detail had been overlooked.  Dropping a Muggle coin into the slot, he dialed something called a “mobile number.”  Kingsley had given it to him in case of emergency. 

   

            “Yes?”  

 

            “We forgot the aunt.” 

 

            “What aunt?” Kingsley asked, sounding puzzled. 

 

            “Harry’s aunt, Marjorie Dursley,” Arthur explained.  “He said she usually visits in late summer.  We can’t have her coming to the house, in case it’s still being watched.  It’s strange that Mr. Dursley didn’t mention her.”

 

            “He might have planned on calling her from the safehouse with some story about why she can’t visit.  There’s no telephone there, of course.  The only thing we can do is send someone to modify her memory.”

 

            “I’d go, but Fleur’s parents are arriving by Portkey today,” Arthur explained.   

 

            “I’ll send Tonks,” Kingsley decided.  “Do you have an address?”

 

            Arthur supplied the name of the city where Miss Dursley lived, adding that Harry didn’t know the street address. 

 

            “Tonks can find it,” Kingsley said.  “Give Bill and Fleur my best wishes.”     

 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.  

 

            Ripper had taken to sleeping at the foot of the stairs.  Marge nearly tripped over him when she came down with her suitcase.  After that idiot detective failed to call her back, she decided to take matters into her own hands.  Her first stop in Little Whinging would be the police station.  She would demand that they send someone to Vernon’s house at once.            

 

            Colonel Fubster had initially offered to drive her.  When Marge mentioned the possibility of a homicidal teenager lurking about, the Colonel suddenly remembered an urgent appointment.  Marge called a taxi to take her to the train station, hoping the driver wouldn’t be one of those nasty foreigners.  

 

            The doorbell startled her.  It couldn’t be the taxi driver already.  Marge peered through the curtain, and then cautiously opened the door.  

 

            “Miss Dursley?  I have a message from Vernon, may I come in?”  

 

            Relief overrode Marge’s disgust at the girl’s pink hair and scruffy leather jacket.  She moved aside so that Tonks could enter.

 

 ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.  

 

            A taxi stopped at the gate just as Tonks was leaving.  She handed the driver some Muggle money, explaining that Miss Dursley had changed her mind.  

 

            “Fine by me,” he grinned.  “That mutt of hers doesn’t travel well.  What about you?  Need a lift?”

 

            “Sorry,” Tonks said with a smile.  “I don’t travel well either.”

 

            Inside the house, Marge wondered why she had so many pictures of such an unattractive family.  

 

            

 

 

 

 

                 


End file.
